


you're my flesh and blood, whether you like it or not

by pansexualdisaster



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abusive Parents, Childhood Trauma, Grief/Mourning, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:02:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28793607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pansexualdisaster/pseuds/pansexualdisaster
Summary: back at the 12, Square Grimmaurd, Sirius has to face his mother, and all the wounds that are left opened.
Relationships: Sirius Black & Remus Lupin, Sirius Black & Walburga Black, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Kudos: 17





	you're my flesh and blood, whether you like it or not

Everyone was gone. They were all on a mission, and the kids at Hogwarts. It was just Sirius, all alone, wandering in the halls.  
He was back in his old bed, in his old room. They had left it for him of course, and where else would he have gone ? It was his room after all. With all the memories of Lily and James and Remus coming over to help him turn the place over after he had inherited it, with all the emptiness left, now that they were gone, it was still his room. He breathed in deeply. Where the hell was Remus anyways, uh ? Was he avoiding him ? He wasn’t quite the same since he had come back from Azkaban after all, and this year in hiding… Well… it had been better already, but still. Sirius barely knew how to interact with people anymore. 

Sirius was walking around the house, purposeless. He could have gone up to the roof, like he did as a child, but the rain and the wind were too much and he wasn’t in the mood for a cold. He was circling around, like a caged tiger, or something like that. When was the last time he had seen a tiger, uh ? More than fifteen years ago that was for fucking sure. He did not really like the idea of caged animals, but maybe he should have gone to a zoo, with Remus, or with Marlene before - before being accused of murdering his best friends - just to be reminded of what they looked like.  
He wanted to turn into Padfoot, was itching to actually, to go run around the streets, around the block maybe. But being the Ministry of Magic’s most wanted did not come without a price, or so it seemed. “Cool story to tell the kids someday” he thought. What kids, uh ? Not like he was going to be a father any time soon. He had Harry, and that was as close as he would ever get. Well, since Harry had never had parents, that would get pretty close, probably. Could he ever be a dad ? With what great example ? Not that Orion Black had been as violent as Walburga was, but he wasn’t exactly a top tier father figure either, eh ? 

Sirius did not know what he hated more, being alone or being trapped. He had been alone for thirteen years, and that, more than the constant presence of Demantors, had almost driven him mad. There was someone in the cell next to him, yes, but they were hollow… They were hollow when Sirius had first gotten sent to Azkaban, and they were even more hollow by the time he had escaped. He felt bad for them, but couldn’t help but remember that this was Azkaban, and maybe, just maybe, they were a serial killer.  
Or maybe they had been falsely accused, like him.  
He had not revealed Lily and James’ house’s location, he couldn’t have ! Yet, he did feel responsible. He did not just carry the one regret of not having blown Peter into a thousand pieces, instead of four or five, he carried the burden of knowing that if he had accepted to be the bearer of their secret, they may have been ok, and Harry could have grown up with his parents. He would have been tortured, maybe, killed in the end. But he would have never talked. If he had been less of a coward, his best friends would be alive, and he would not have to be anyone’s godfather.  
He had been trapped and alone thirteen years, then alone for one, trapped for a couple of months, and now it had been a few hours since he was alone and trapped again. He found it easier when there were Demantors around, because then he could blame it on something else, it being his overwhelming pain, his racing mind, the constant howling of thoughts in his brain.

The guilt was the worst thing. The guilt never left him. It kept him awake, it kept him from talking, at the new Order of the Phenix’s meetings, it even kept him from looking Harry in the eyes sometimes.  
Maybe he had become hollow, uh ? 

Thoughts of guilt, regret and over kinds of self-blaming were plaguing his mind as he went through the entrance’s hall one more time. What was it, the third, fourth time ? He did not count. Thought of guilt was going through his head as he heard the screechy laugh. It was a maniacal laugh, a laugh he knew all too well. 

Kreatur must have pulled the curtain back because his “Pure, pure Mistress Black needs air to breathe”. No she doesn’t, Sirius thinks, she’s dead. I’m the one who needs air.  
But whatever or whoever did it, she was now out in the open and laughing, and his train of thought was thrown off its rail. He stopped in his tracks as he was about to get up the stairs to continue his strolling around in the house. He remembers. He remembers the way she laughed at her, when she beat him, or when he would beg, at the start. He stopped, with time. With the end of his begging came the end of her laughter, and the end of her mercy. But he did not care, he did not care for pain, less or more, as long as she stopped laughing. So now, her laughter, when he did not even beg, it wrecked something in his chest. All of a sudden, he felt as vulnerable as he did then.  
He clenched his jaw, frozen. 

“My incompetent, incompetent disappointment of a son, back home ! How are you feeling yet ? What is the news ? Where have you been ? Your uncle Nigellus and I have been wondering where you were… How long has it been ? I’ve seen and heard many people in the last couple of months, but I had yet to see you.” She still laughed that ugly and creepy laugh, stuck between a teenage girl’s giggle and a lady’s controlled “Ha Ha Ha”. 

He walked down one step. Breathed in deeply. He did not answer right away. 

“Come on, a little mother-son talk is long overdue, Sirius Ori..”

He cut her off before she could say his full name. It almost brought back a wave of painful memories, the memories of when she would chase him around the house when she had deemed his behaviour terrible or she was just bored, and wanted to unleash her nerves on him. 

“You’re not my mother, I think we’re way past that. There’s no need to pretend anymore, because you’re dead. And the only news you need to know is I’m not, and I keep on being the disappointment you’ve always hated.”

He was almost surprised how easily the word disappointment came to him, to talk about himself. He probably believed it. Well, he did believe it. It had been years since he had listened to her voice, a little less since he had heard it probably.  
He thought of Euphemia Potter, and how, just through a couple of summer holidays - before she passed away because of a lung disease - she had taught him what it was to be a mother, or, well, to have a mother. He wondered how two people as different as Euphemia and Walburga could have coexisted in his life. His mind almost wandered back to James, and to his guilt, but her voice stopped him, and he was almost grateful.

“How is James Fleamont Potter doing, uh ? And his filthy Mudblood of a toy ? How are they, uh, son ? I have not seen them or heard of them. Heard the name Potter anyways. Those things reproduced ?”

Pain. He ignored it, and focused on his anger, anger that she could talk about them like that. They were greater people than she had ever been, or would ever be. She had no rights to even think about them.

“They were greater people than you ever were, or will ever be for that matter. And yes, they had a son, a beautiful son, a loving and caring son, and probably one of the most powerful wizard of his generation, and you cannot do anything about it, ‘cause while he and I are alive and making the world a better place, you’re dead, fucking cunt.”

His anger left a bitter taste in his mouth. He could have killed her right where she had been standing if she had not just been talking oil paint. Whose idea had it been to make talking paintings anyways, uh ?  
When he had said the words “fucking cunt”, her amused expression had been wiped from her face. 

“I can see right through you Sirius Orion Black,” the name, his, sent a chill down his spine “you are my flesh and blood whether you like it or not, and no matter how much I resent myself for bringing you to this world. How’s your fleabag of a werewolf, then, uh ? Tell me, is he dead ? I hope he is. I hope you’re as alone as you left your father and I to be, as you left Regulus to be. Who the hell gives up on their little brother, uh ? We were right to give up on you, your father and I, yes we were.”

She had hit him right where it hurt, as she always did, as she knew how to. The guilt that came with thinking about Regulus, and his useless, ridiculous death at Voldemort’s service swallowed him. He had left his brother and this house and

“No, Remus is doing fucking great. He became a teacher.” He did not tell her he had stopped teaching. “He is greater than anyone you have ever laid eyes upon. Your cherished son, on the other hand, is fucking dead.”

Genuine shock seemed to be painted over her face.  
Painted.  
Sirius suddenly remembered that this was a painting causing him this much pain, not his mother, his mother was dead. He felt idiotic trying to justify his choices and actions to some paint, and a couple of paint brushes stroke.  
He got down the last couple of stairs, and rushed to the painting, closing the curtains with such violence that he ripped said curtains from the curtain rack. He swore a lot, and she cursed and laughed at him. He could feel a lump growing in his throat he needed to scream. He walked quickly up the stairs while she screamed behind him, trying to remind him of the hold she had over him before he slipped away, that “YOU’RE TRAPPED HERE, YOU’RE STUCK WITH ME AGAIN, AND THERE IS NOTHING YOU CAN DO ABOUT IT”. 

But he was out of her sight, running towards his room, slamming the door behind himself as he got in.  
He started screaming. How had she, even in death, pushed all of his buttons in so little time, and had caused him so much pain ?  
Sirius had never been too good at expressing his emotions in a healthy way, though it had gotten when he stayed at the Potter’s, or when he and Remus were dating, but thirteen years locked in the Wizard Prison had not made it better. 

On the shelves, Sirius had remnants of his childhood, wooden blocks or his first golden snitch - a version for children - and such things. He ripped the shelves from his wall and let them crash to the ground. He hated being trapped, and he hated being back here even more. He had given everything up to leave, and now he was letting his mother push his buttons ? He was past thirty for fuck sake. His mother was not supposed to have such a hold over him.  
He let another shelf crash on the ground. His mind was not on Lily, not on James, not on the Potter’s family house, not on Regulus, his mind was on Remus now.  
There had not been a proper break up. He had just been sent to jail, with no possibility of communicating, no possibility of explaining he was innocent, the love of his life thinking he had killed their three best friends. Even now that he had been proven innocent, and they were back to being friends, something had changed. He chuckled to himself, thinking that maybe, just maybe something just breaks between two individuals when one thinks the other murdered the three people you cared for most apart from them. Maybe something broke on either end.  
They had tried, when they had found each other again. Reus had held him, and he had caressed Remus’ cheek with his thumb, as if no thirteen years had passed. But it had. There was no electric shock when Remus would let his fingers draw patterns on his back.  
His love had been the thing that had let him keep his head above the surface during the time he was imprisoned, the idea of getting back to him. But thirteen years later, Remus had had years to learn to hate him, to learn to feel played, betrayed, years to move on. Had the idea of that happening even crossed Sirius’ mind ? Maybe, and maybe he had just brushed it off, desperate for hope, for something to get back to, to hold on to.  
As the third shelf crashed onto the floor, so did Sirius, stabbing his knee with a wooden block, because of which he left out a pained cry, and a whole lot of curse words. What did he have to stay alive for anymore ? An empty manor, and a screaming painting ? He did not have to stay for Harry, because there had not been enough time for him to start being important for his godson. And who would care for the most well-known serial killer of his generation, uh ? For a moment, and he blamed himself for thinking it before the thought was even done, he thought that if Harry had not been that famous, then the potential murder would not have been that big of a deal. In fact, it probably wouldn’t even have happened, he would have walked free, still his lover by his side. 

Sirius started sobbing ugly sobs, throwing the wooden toy across the room, leaving a dent in the wall. 

He did not get back to the painting. He cried. He looked at Remus in a different way, now that he knew there was no hope anymore, there would be nothing anymore, and that if Remus was the love of his life, he must be Remus’, and that meant that his life’s love too would be heartbreaking. He went to the Black family tree, sat by it, and stared at Regulus’ name, next to the hole that used to be his.  
There were no portraits for Regulus in the house. 

No portrait in the main hall for his father either. His mother had always ruled everything, and he knew it, but when he noticed his father’s absence, he felt kind of bad. Some days, he felt bad for blaming his father, who might have suffered as he had. The others, he blamed Orion even more than Walburga, the inaction and the witnessing it all more than the drawing the scars that ran across his back and the locking him in a cupboard, or the crucios. 

Kreatur had fixed the curtain when Sirius had asked, although he had not done it too quickly or too happily. He heard her scream from time to time when Arthur Weasley went on his bi-monthly mission to dust the paintings, or at the beginning of the Christmas break, when all the kids had come into the house at the same time. She had been so horrible towards Hermione that Sirius had almost intervened, but he did not have to because Ronald Weasley had almost hexed her, and had used vocabulary that would have normally gotten Molly to wash his mouth with soap, but as everybody thought it was well deserved actually got him a few back pats from a few member of the order, including Remus.  
Sirius had smiled at the scene, and looked away quickly when Remus’ eyes had fallen on him.

During the Christmas break, Sirius was at his happiest. He did not hang out with the youngsters too much, but they loved him, and he loved them, and he got to play his godfather role a couple of times. He forced Molly to let him help, and even if he had most likely put her further behind schedule than she had planned, she hadn’t said anything, and they had gotten closer, talking about Harry at first, then about anything and everything. She was great to be around, avoiding swiftly any topic that might have been a little harsh, as if she had done that her whole life, which, well, since she had had two brothers and had borne seven children, she might have.  
He slept well, because he kept busy, and ended up even growing tired. It was a fun couple of weeks, and he kind of wished they would not end.  
But he knew it, the kids had to get back to Hogwarts, and even though Remus arranged for his first outing in the open, as he watched the big red train leave, he felt lonely and even more aware of the cage that seemed to be trapping him inside. When he had come back, Remus had gone up to his room, and it almost had not been awkward between the two of them. Probably not too bad for two ex-lovers-maybe-still-soulmates.

He had untied his shoes, and as he was going to go up the stairs, he had stopped and gone to the painting, opened the curtains, and went back to the staircase, to sit on the fourth step. He was facing the door that led to the outside world, his back to the rest of the house, while she was facing him. He did not know why he had opened the curtains.

"Disgusting. I simply cannot believe that you would let mudbloods dine in my house. You disgust me. For Christmas ? What then ? They live here full time ?”

His voice was calm, his eyes lost. 

“No, not permanently, they have to go to school right ? I get that that’s a complicated concept for you to grasp, since you were pretty enough to marry your cousin, but some people aren’t just pretty, they need to cultivate brains too. Thanks to you, mother, and to your genes and to your punishments which made me hate you, I will not be like you, a mix of both maybe. I am both beautiful and brainsy, you could be proud of that at least, hm ? I don’t have kids of my own, but those ones, they’re not too bad looking, and they’re pretty bright, or at least I think they are.”  
“Stop pretending you were smart, you were always a disappointment. You did not even have to be a Slytherin, you could have been a Ravenclaw. But no, you had to go against everything, and not even be smart. Your brother would have never acted that way around Orion and I.”

He turned his head to her, a shocked or disgusted look on his face, maybe a mix of both. His brow was furrowed.  
“Merlin mother, father and you were married before you both died, you can call him literally anything other than his first name or “your father”. And your expectations are not my responsibility, I did not owe you to attain them.”

Those were Molly’s words, not his. 

“You should have aimed lower, am I right ?”

Not the aiming lower part, the expectation and reality thing. He was trying to use random things that Molly Weasley had said while chopping or dicing carrots as positive affirmations, and honestly it worked better than whatever went through his head. 

He knew the hold his mother had over him, and that he had to do something to free himself from it. He would make it, little by little.  
She ignored it, showing him a poised figure, which turned pained as she seemed to be reminiscing. 

“Your brother… He was so much better.” 

He cracked a tense smile. He was going to hurt her with his next words, though they were not especially carefully chosen.

“I know. But he is dead, isn’t he ? He is dead after having lived the life of a follower, never choosing anything for himself, always following you. You killed him in the end, you and dad. Waddya got to say for yourself, uh ?”

That shut her up. 

“It wasn’t me who killed him, it wasn’t me who pushed him to join the Death Eaters. I wasn’t there so how could I, eh ? You did that. I can be guilty for a lot of things, and I’ll gladly take the blame where I deserve it, but not for that.”

She was still silent. Until

“You broke his heart when you left, so you made him empty and easier to manipulate, you made him a little bitch, you killed him more than we did.”  
“I thought you loved him, eh ? Doesn’t really sound like love to me.”

Suddenly, there was disgust all over her face. Her facial expression had twitched in an instant, he had almost failed to notice the change, instantly forgetting what her pained face looked like just the moment before.

“Traitor to your bloodline, you disgust me. If I had known you would come out of me, I would have cut out my uterus myself, the only reason I had another child was to get redemption for you, for the rebellious child you were. Regulus was my only comfort, and you took him from me.”

He ignored the insults. It was nothing new, he knew everything she was telling him already, she had already said it, years before. He had not had an extensive talk with her in years, so she had not gotten to the self-victimizing part in a while, but eh, it was good to know she had not lost her enthusiasm with words, even in a painting form.

“And again. Getting bored. That’s not love, Walburga. That’s not what it’s like to be someone’s mother.”  
“How would you fucking know that, you’ll never be anyone’s father, let alone someone’s mother, who would spend time with you if they weren’t forced to, uh ?”

That… That was what she did best, hitting blindly everything she could reach until she struck the most painful spot. Sirius did not reply. Not with a “Yeah you’re fucking right” to indulge her, or with a “Shut the fuck up you know nothing”, that would have probably brought her even more joy. No, he stayed silent, stabbed by the thought of forever loneliness. He could only gasp for air, which she did not fail to notice. 

“So you’re alone, eh, lonely even ? Of course you would be. You gave your family back, it’s only right for it to come back to you and for whatever pretend family you had found to leave you too.”

He did not always feel this alone. There were people around, at almost all times, to talk to, or things to do to help organize the fight against the Death Eaters. He could feel useful, it happened. Sometimes, when Arthur thanked him for lending the house, for example, he felt proud, because this terrible house was turning into something great, and because the reunions could only take place thanks to him.  
But now, when the kids had just left, when the silence was just settling, he felt like something in his chest was swallowing him from the inside. His throat seemed to tug and clench. He felt himself being hollowed out. He clasped his hands together, and intertwined his fingers with one another to stop himself from shaking because of the terror that came with the realisation. He was empty, and he had no love, no one who cared for him. 

“We’re the same you and I, my sweet, sweet son.”

Hearing her say that might have gotten him to throw up right here and there. 

“We’re nothing alike. I may not be much, but at least I’m not… I’m not… I never tortured anyone.”

Severus Snape’s face from eighteen years before came to his face. Lie, he had been exactly like that. His voice got a little louder. 

“I have known love !”

Had he ? There was no proof of that anywhere, only proof of him failing to keep people around him. Remus, Harry, James, Lily, Peter, Marlene, Dorcas, Gideon, hell even Cedric Diggory, he had failed them all. He was years away from the popular, funny Sirius Black. His tattoos were the only witnesses of who he had been, and of the changes he had gone through.  
He screamed, forgetting there were people around the house, or not caring. It was almost a howl, and he realized tears were building up in his eyes.  
He got up, facing up, running the few steps he had to take to be standing in front of her. 

“I’M NOTHING LIKE YOU ! I LEFT YOU ! I LIVED FREE ! I TRIED MY BEST !”

Lies, lies, lies again.  
He had drawn his wand and was about to stab the painting. He had nothing to stop him, he could do it, he could end it, why had he kept the damn painting anyways ?

“No, you said it yourself my son, I can’t love. Do you think your father could ? Who could have possibly taught you how to ? Who ? You’re not capable of love, you’re crooked, like I was, like you’re father was, like your brother was.”

He put his hands to his ears, a distraught puppy who’s tail had just been stepped on. He had forgotten about his rage as with each of her words came another open wound that would never heal. His back was visibly scarred, but it was in his chest that he felt her most violent, invisible hits. no, no, no, no, no no non onono n non no 

“You’re crooked, I see the same dent in you there was in us, you’re looking for fulfillment, that’s all it ever was, you’re not capable of love ! How could you be ? You can’t answer the damn question, because there is no answer ! You can’t love, and you’re looking so desperately to be loved, you’re just a bloodsucker.”

Sirius heard screaming. He had not noticed it was him who was screaming, trying to cover her words. Burning tears rolling down his cheeks, ripping his skin from his face. No, that wasn’t the tears, that was his fingernails. Why had he opened the curtains ? He must have felt he deserved it, and that was probably true.  
He hated his hollow self. 

He stayed screaming for a while, in fetal position.  
Arthur’s head passed through the door to see who was screaming, but did not approach him. Instead, he went to look for Remus.  
Remus came, and covered Sirius with his body to shield him from anything that could have come from the outside.  
It was Remus who carried him to his room, who held him until he slept, and Remus who got rid of the painting.  
Remus who cared for him.

**Author's Note:**

> i might add more chapter of Sirius getting better at confronting Walburga and mending his relationship with Remus !  
> hope you liked it and stay tuned for maybe for works !  
> you can find me on twitter, @H4PPENED


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